The Ice Pilot Part 32

CHAPTER x.x.xII-TO THE LAST DAY

As the sun rose above the ice-covered sea on the morning following Stirling's talk with the leader of the revolutionists, the ship was swung toward the magnetic north and driven within the opening which lies between Banks Land and Prince Patrick Island.

Banks Strait the pa.s.sage was called, and it led from Beaufort Sea and the uncharted waters east of Keenan Land to Melville Sound and Barrow Strait. From the appearance of the ice and direction of the wind, Stirling decided to chance the pa.s.sage. There was no way back!

He climbed the shrouds and dropped into the crow's-nest. The after deck, from the companion hatch to the taffrail, had been reserved by the revolutionists for Helen Marr and her steamer chair. She had conquered the Russians by her smiles and songs. They all stood in the presence of death and the unknown. The appearance of the sea; the strange tides and currents; the action of the compa.s.s at variance with the stars-all these drove the haunting desire of companionship within men's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Old differences were forgotten in the face of despair.

Stirling took quiet charge of the ship. He gave the orders, which were partly understood by the leader, who, Stirling soon learned, really knew a fair amount of English, although at first he had been loath to disclose his knowledge, no doubt for strategic reasons. One or two others of the Russians had a smattering of English.

The _Pole Star_ dodged in and out of ice floes and drifting packs which had been loosened by the unusual warmth. The way ahead was unknown and uncharted, and it was barely possible that the heavier ice had gone south and west with the current.

Gripped with the desire for research and discovery, Stirling made many notes in Marr's old log book. He held the crow's-nest until the sun rimmed the western waste of waters and ice; then descended to the deck as an open lane appeared before the course of the ship.

With his hand in his pocket he moved among the silent revolutionists, and they made way for him as he stepped across the waist of the ship and climbed the quarter-deck steps. Their att.i.tude was one of respect. Had he not driven the _Pole Star_ that day through a wilderness of drift ice which none of them believed pa.s.sable? His hearty "Steady, port; hard aport-now starboard!" was a revelation in piloting.

The coffee he drank as Helen Marr appeared from the companion way cleared his brain. He tapped the log book and swept his hand over the sea to the north.

"All new!" he said, proudly. "We're about the first ship to make this pa.s.sage. McClintock on a sledge was up here."

Helen Marr brushed the hair from her forehead and turned with the silver coffeepot in her hand. She pointed over the taper jib boom of the _Pole Star_. "I remember," she said, "a painting in an old book, of Lady Franklin and Sir John Franklin sitting together in an old London room.

The painting was called 'The Northwest Pa.s.sage.'"

"He died down there," said Stirling, pointing toward the magnetic north.

"See the glint of ice? The sun won't sink to-day, it will rim the world to the west and slowly rise."

The girl watched Stirling and stepped closer to his side. "Do you think we can get through to open sea?" she asked, turning her face up to his.

He shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "We'll try! We're heading for Barrow Strait and Lancaster Sound. Both may be jammed with ice. If they are--"

Stirling's pause was suggestive. The girl shuddered and drew a coat about her shoulders, then set the coffeepot down on the deck and glided to the taffrail. A nip had come into the air, and it was no longer day or night. The sea birds rested upon the floes without motion; the seals and walrus watched the fast-gliding ship, then slipped into the water, and were gone. Desolation and death ruled the world above seventy-three.

Stirling waited until the girl came back. She picked up the coffeepot, and her eyes were filled with longing as she said:

"Go back and do what you can. There seems to be ice everywhere."

Stirling squared his shoulders and stepped briskly to the wheelsman. He bent there and consulted the binnacle, reached and took the chart which the leader held out to him. Its details were vague enough. Dots showed where land _might_ be, and the soundings were in spots where explorers had lowered a lead line through the frozen surface.

"A bad place to be," Stirling said to the leader. "I think we are in for it from now on."

The leader thrust out his hands, and at that moment the ship struck a sunken ledge of ice. The bow sheered, and cries came from forward.

"Steady!" Stirling shouted into the wheelsman's ear. "Hold her steady, you, until I see!"

He leaped the planks and sprang down to the waist. He was up the weather shrouds and into the crow's-nest with the agility of a young boy, and his eyes swept the way ahead. The stretch of ice seemed interminable, since the long spit of sand which marked a portion of Prince of Wales Land had caused the floes to ground, and there seemed no way to the eastward. Stirling turned and stared aft over the stern of the ship. The way by which they had come was now blocked by floes.

"Nipped!" he said between strong white teeth. "We're nipped!"

With the binoculars he swept the entire ice-bound horizon. The sun was rising through the western mist, and appeared a ball of cold fire. The aurora played across the Northern heavens and leaped to the zenith.

Through it shone the light points of the high swinging dipper and the overhead lodestar.

Stirling braced himself, pressed the gla.s.ses to his eyes for a second glance, then set them down. He leaned over the edge of the crow's-nest and called to the leader, who was at the wheel:

"Give her full speed and starboard the helm!"

The ship gained and churned forward. The jib boom swung off toward a lower shelf of ice, and the crash that followed as the stout sheathing cut through the floes drove the Russians to their knees. The foremast whipped like a willow rod. The girl cried a warning.

"Back her!" shouted Stirling. "Reverse, and try again!"

The manuvre was repeated. The ice gave way; the _Pole Star_ lunged on and cleared to an open lane. Beyond this lane was still another icy barrier.

Stirling attacked this with fury. He felt the grip of winter in the air, and tiny patches of new ice were forming despite the rising sun. The sea, once frozen, would lock them in the North for many winters. The one way out was to crush the floes ahead.

The ship grounded on a hidden sand bar which jutted from the nearest land to starboard. Stirling gave the order which cleared it, but only after an anxious half hour of backing and plunging forward. He mopped his brow. The ice had drifted around the point and was bearing down on the ship. This time there seemed no escape. Reluctantly he gave the signal to cease the attempt, and climbed from the crow's-nest down the rigging. They were ice-bound in Barrow Strait.

The ship swung her jib boom toward the land and began drifting ash.o.r.e.

Stirling paused at the rail long enough to order the anchor dropped, then went aft as the Russians cut the deck lashings and began lifting the anchor.

The rattle of the rusty chain through the hawser woke him to the terror of the situation. Steam plumed from aft the funnel, but the screw was still. The engine-room crowd had emerged from the companion and were staring at the wilderness of ice and snow. The sea water overside and around the _Pole Star_ was sc.u.mmed with a film of mush ice.

The leader offered Stirling the chart when he reached the quarter-deck, and as he took it, he removed his mittens, and breathed upon his fingers. They tingled as he tracked the course of the ship from the mouth of the Mackenzie, and studied all that the chart had to tell him of the strait ahead.

The position of the _Pole Star_ was desperate. The formation of heavy ice would press her ash.o.r.e, and a shift of current or advancing floes was sure to wreck the ship.

Stirling raised his eyes and rolled up the chart, then pa.s.sed it back to the leader with a shrug of his broad shoulders. The Ice Pilot braced his legs against a step, and his eyes swept along the deck. The revolutionists had gathered in the waist, and some were pointing to the land which lay to starboard, where green patches of moss showed upon the lowland, but the hills were crusted with perpetual snow. The weather side of the ridge showed deep gullies filled with black ice from which streams of water had issued, and then frozen. There was no sign of life, save an Arctic bird which wheeled in the sky and started toward the southward.

Helen Marr glided across the deck and came to Stirling's side, glancing up at him with wonder breaking through the beauty of her eyes. She had donned a sealskin cap and long coat, and her red lips and crimson cheeks struck him with the force of an accusation. He lowered his glance and stared at the deck.

"Can't we go on?" she asked, a tremor in her voice.

"Not now, Miss Helen. Perhaps the ice barrier will open by night, the current is still in our favour, but it's the wind that counts. See, it is toward sh.o.r.e. That brings the ice."

The girl studied the drifting floes which were gathering about the whaler, like chicks about a mother hen. Beyond these floes came others, crashing and tumbling, driven by the northeast wind. She turned toward the land, and her hand went up to shield her eyes from the glint of sun on ice. "What country is that?" she asked.

"That's Russel Island off Prince of Wales Land. If we could get around that point we might go on through Barrow Strait."

The girl bit her lip, wheeled suddenly, and stared down at the waist of the ship. The revolutionists had grown excited over their argument which was as to whether they should leave the ship before it was crushed by the gathering floes. They pointed toward the land and the sky beyond, where the haze marked still other land. Green spots showed close to sh.o.r.e-Arctic moss and tundra.

Stirling touched the girl on the shoulder. "I see them," he said. "They may decide to abandon the ship. Let's go below and boil some coffee. I'm going to wait until the wind shifts before I decide. They may want me to lead a landing party, but I'll stick to the ship."

"And me?"

"Yes; and you-to the last day of my life!"

CHAPTER x.x.xIII-A GRIM WARNING